Truly floored by all the kind words of encouragement. Tossing one-shot out the window. Thrilled to be here, thank you for being you. [I do not own OUAT.]
Without missing a beat, Belle pushed the car door open and slipped out, her face glowing as she stood in the wet grass, wiggling her toes. Mr. Gold eased slowly out after her, feeling his age as he set his cane first to take the weight off his bad leg.
"Hey, wait." He turned impatiently to the sheriff, who twisted around from the driver's seat to face him.
Emma glanced past him out the window to look at Belle before speaking. "I know you think I helped you out back there, but they really didn't have the records or proof to hold her like that." She paused, and he found her ability to backpedal remarkable. "I mean, this isn't over," she sighed. "As soon as Regina…" She glanced up at the rearview mirror and swore, just as a black car pulled up to the curb behind the police car.
"Ah, just in time," Mr. Gold said with a smile. "Excuse me, Sheriff."
He carefully exited the sheriff's car and turned to face the mayor.
To her credit, she did not storm up to him as she had previously, but this time sauntered up the sidewalk: a show pony in a business suit. Perfectly coifed and lipsticked, she reeked of stale magic, and he instinctively stepped to one side to place himself between her and Belle. The irony of his own action was hardly lost on him; it would be tough to decide whose soul was more sullied in the long run, his or Regina's.
Her eyes flickered to the suddenly wary brunette and then back to him, and she smiled that saccharine smile. "How are you feeling, dear?," she asked Belle, her eyes entirely on him.
Behind him, he felt the brush of Belle's arm as she tensed at the sound of the mayor's silken voice. His mind wandered against his will, through thoughts of what Regina might have said or done to her in all this time, in both this world and the last. He shoved the useless emotion away quickly and gave Regina a predatory smile in return.
"Oh, no need to worry," he said, coolly. "She's feeling much better already, as you can see." His expansive gesture clearly took in Sheriff Swan, perched in the doorway of her police car, silently observing their interaction.
Regina's expression froze into a sour smile. "Well, good," she said, in a dull tone that implied it was anything but. "Unfortunately, she's still considered much too ill to be released at this time." She smiled thinly and gave Emma a perfunctory nod. "Sheriff Swan, if you would please escort her back to the hospital…"
To her credit, despite looking uncomfortable, Emma didn't back down. Her stance leaning over the roof of the car implied that she wasn't about to apprehend anyone. "I'm sorry, Madam Mayor," she began, "but there just wasn't enough evidence…" She waved a hand at Belle, who stood shivering, but oddly detached, watching them discuss her future like plans for a dinner party. "I mean, she's entirely coherent and there's been nothing of violence or hallucinations, nothing like what was written on her records initially. She isn't even on any medication for things like that anymore, according to her charts, just sedatives." Emma sounded uncertain, but genuinely baffled, and Mr. Gold was delighted to see Regina's mouth twitch in a subtle scowl over this news. He truly did not envy the nurses and doctors who had let the mayor down.
"Well, Madam Mayor, I'm incredibly grateful for your concern," he said lightly, stepping forward with a small bow. "But we are doing quite well," he slipped a wink at Belle in reassurance, "and would be happy to have visitors once we've had a chance to settle in a bit." He smiled at Regina. "Perhaps you might like to come by for a cup of tea."
The mayor's smile fell flat. "Yes, well." She tried to keep the sneer from her face, but he could see the disgust written all over. "I'm not much of a tea-drinker."
"Of course," Mr. Gold said, politely.
With a final look that suggested this was far from over, she got back into her car. As it sped off, Emma gave him a stern look. "Tomorrow, Dr. Hopper's. Eleven a.m."
He inclined his head in acquiescence, leaning on his cane with both hands. "I remember our deal, Sheriff Swan."
She looked somewhat mollified and tried to smile at Belle. "Well. Alright then." She slid into the driver's seat and slowly pulled away from the curb, watching them from the side view mirror.
With a tired sigh, he turned back to his house, only to see Belle looking at him in that bold way she had: from under her eyelashes, but without fear or timidity, like she had figured him out in the hour they had spent together. There was no thought in her eyes for the faint drizzle beginning to fall, or the cold of the wet earth beneath her bare feet. Instead, she walked through the mud and sparse grass towards him, her eyes slowly lighting with a thoughtful curiosity.
He felt something cringe away in his soul at that honest look and he again offered her his arm, friendly but not quite meeting her eyes. "Come, dear," he said, "let's get something warm in you."
She slipped her arm in his and he felt her warmth spread through him at her touch. So real. So gloriously real… no. He gripped the handle of the cane hard and pushed off it with a little extra jerk. It was too easy for him to fall into old habits.
They climbed the steps and he unlocked the door and motioned her inside. He closed the door behind them and turned on the lights in the entryway.
"The kitchen is off to the right here and the…," he began, as he removed his coat and dropped his cane in a stand by the door before noticing her frozen stance.
She had paused just inside, looking down in dismay at her muddy feet on the elaborate Persian rug . "Oh, no."
"What's wrong," he asked, looking down, and then shook his head. "It's just a bit of dirt. No worries."
She was shaking her head, and the messy brown waves tumbling about her shoulders shook. Before he could stop himself, he had reached out and tipped her face up to the dim hall light, and was surprised to find her crying.
"Oh, no need for tears," he said, awkwardly. "It's just a rug." His hand brushed against her cheek, and his thumb stroked her jawline once before pulling back.
He cursed himself again for it all. His mistakes knew no bounds, each preceded by yet an earlier mistake. He should have looked for her in this life, he should have looked for her in the last. He should have questioned Regina, killed the queen instead of dealing with her. He should never have fallen for her, should never have even bargained for her in the first place.
But he had. And she had paid such a price for it.
Her shoulders were shivering under his hands, and he snapped his attention back to the present. She was cold and needed a hot bath and a bed. A true knight, a whole man he thought bitterly, would simply sweep her off her muddy little feet to the bathroom upstairs. He ground his teeth in frustration, shifting his weight by habit. He may own the town, but it was a steep price with such a weak body and no magic.
"Wait here," he said, his voice rough as he pulled his hands away, painfully aware of the loss of contact with her. He limped into the kitchen and grabbing a towel from the sideboard, soaked it under hot water from the tap before returning to the hallway. Ungracefully, he sank to his good knee before her and began to wipe the clods of dirt from her feet.
"I'm sorry," he heard her say, breaking the silence. "You shouldn't… you've been so kind…"
"It's nothing." He cut her off and gathered the dirty kitchen towel in one hand, reaching for the side table to help himself up.
He felt her hand under his elbow, her other arm wrapped about his waist and with a gentle tug, he was standing again. His heart fluttered like a trapped bird as he found himself looking down into blue eyes in a perfect heart-shaped face.
"No," she said, firmly, taking the towel from his hand. "It's not nothing." There was a fierce light in her eyes and he was distracted by how he could smell her, how she smelled the same. Earth and rain and something that was just her.
She took his hand in hers and looked down at it. "You know, you're the only one who hasn't asked me what I remember," she said quietly before looking up at him. "It's like you don't care if I remember or not…" She frowned and paused, as if recognizing that memory wasn't quite right. Her gaze searched his face intently. "Like you won't think less of me either way."
He looked back at her as he fought the feelings back down, schooling his gaze into something attentive, yet empty.
"What I mean is," she tried again, uncertainly this time, "I just wanted to say, 'thank you'."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and turned to the stairs. He climbed them slowly, each aching step feeling like a burning renewal of his vow to never hurt her again. He would give her everything she deserved and more, even if that meant denying himself the one thing he desired.
At the top of the stairs, he motioned to his right. "This is the bathroom. There's towels and everything…" He pointed to the door at the end of the hall. "That's your room through there. If you need anything, please just… help yourself."
She nodded, a sad smile. "Yes. Thank you." Her lips were parted as if she wanted to say more, but he turned away and pushed open his room door, before looking back over his shoulder at her. "Miss French?"
She stood in the same spot, a damp spot forming around her on the carpet. "Yes, Mr. Gold?"
"You're very welcome."
She pressed her lips together and gave a small nod, before heading down the hallway.
He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled slowly, then closed the door quietly.
I hope you enjoyed. Thoughts, suggestions, reviews always appreciated. -lovezooey